Turnings

This is the poem I wrote for my son's wedding.

They started in the last season of childhood;
she in a red dress, he in a white suit,
a lovely Mexican flower, a boy with drumming passion.
The spring sun enveloped them in its light and warmth;
a harbinger before the changes, before the growing,
in a sacred turning only God understands.

Now, in this summer of committment they have brought
unguarded hearts, burgeoning dreams,
and Providence has arrived.
Surrounded by fragile hopes and tender mercies
the thread between heaven and earth is spliced into
this moment, tethered to the cradle of a united life.

In the sweet shelter of autumn, some days
will be hungrier than others, and on those days,
burrowing into their home, folding into each other,
they will lift up their eyes, palms raised and open,
and weave themselves together like a bountiful basket
as if they could hold love in their arms.

The winter solstice has not yet come,
but when it does they will not be alone.
Traveling through wind and snow, coming home to love,
they have found something as never-ending as the seasons,
for brought to each new awakening is the
fellowship in mere living, the survival of being loved.